


Home, sweet home

by Poutini



Series: The sequence and series of events [5]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 28 orgasms later, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Competitive Masturbation, Competitive Patrick, M/M, Naughty showertime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pancakes, Post-Season Six, Shameless use of business puns, Shower pink Patrick is always a favourite, Solid use of mirrors, Take Charge Patrick, Tender Sex, Will write porn for poutine, Will write poutine into porn, and two more orgasms for an even 30, making office supplies sexy again, maple syrup, now with 100 percent more spreader bar, tcp, your neighbourhood potato has a problem with numbers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poutini/pseuds/Poutini
Summary: It started as a joke, as these things often do.  And though it took nearly a year, Patrick made good on a drunken promise to David - that they would christen every damn room in their new home.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: The sequence and series of events [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850773
Comments: 492
Kudos: 432





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Straight up, no poem, no fancy shit.  
> No attempts at brevity, no joy at accidental word counts.  
> Pretty much just smut, with some fluff, is how this is gonna be. 
> 
> If you haven't read my [ Season 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23867119/chapters/57369649), [ Season 5 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986183/chapters/57696802) or [ Season 6 ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204829/chapters/58306813) vignettes, please do!
> 
> And if you're a returning reader, hey, thanks for sticking around!

They closed on a Friday. At midnight, the keys that had been sitting in the ceramic bowl on the mantle in Patrick’s apartment for the last four days now granted full legal access to David and Patrick’s first home. The plan had been to wait until morning before taking the first load of fragile belongings over in Patrick’s car, but with each passing moment past the strike of twelve, the itch to be in their first shared space grew, until David was pacing, and Patrick was nervously picking at his guitar, playing the same three chords over and over.

David’s back and forth took him past the mantle a number of times before he finally plucked the keys out of the bowl, twirling the ring on his index finger, a plaintive look in his beautiful brown eyes. “Patrick, can’t we just go have a look?”

***

Thirty-eight minutes later, they arrived at their new home. The drive itself was only thirteen minutes, but three minutes had been spent by David kissing Patrick senseless when he consented to a moonlit visit, an additional four were lost when Patrick pinned David to the wall and mouthed at his neck when David suggested packing the air mattress, some blankets and pillows, and the remaining eighteen were spent gathering all the supplies needed to play camp-out. That includes the three minutes Patrick spent waiting in the car, while David ran upstairs to grab a corkscrew for the bottle of Carmenère they had packed. 

With grins threatening to split open their faces, they unlocked the door, and stepped across the threshold together. 

***

An hour later, full of cheese, crackers, and wine, they had begun making lists. Paint colours, furniture, other assorted accoutrements. Well, those were _David’s_ lists. Patrick’s list was more simple - nothing more than the name of each room in the house:

_Kitchen_

_Formal dining area_

_Living room_

_Master bedroom_

_Master bathroom_

_Powder room_

_Guest bedroom_

_Guest bathroom_

_Breakfast nook_

_Patrick’s office_

_David’s studio_

“What’s this?” David asked, curious, tipsy, and a little confused.

“It’s a list of every room in the house,” Patrick deadpanned, never missing an opportunity to tease a little exasperation from his husband.

“I see that!” David huffed. ( _Mission accomplished, Patrick.)_ “What’s it for?”

Patrick cupped David’s face in his hands, as he had many times before when he wanted to ensure he had David’s full focus, even though his own eyes were a little crossed from fatigue and the Carmenère. “David, I promise you, we are going to christen every damn room in this house, and I’m gonna check each one off as we do.”


	2. Master Bedroom

The master bedroom was first. _Obviously_. It was _so obvious_ , it was like the FREE SPACE on a BINGO card. It was so obvious, that between the drunken nature of his promise, the exhaustion of moving boxes, and the post-orgasmic haze of their first naked romp in their new home, Patrick nearly forgot about the list he had crafted the night before. 

“ _AHEM_!” David coughed, exaggeratedly, holding the list in hand, waving it with a flourish. “I do believe this requires updating!”

_ <rewind forty six minutes> _

Patrick was a sweaty mess from having hauled furniture and boxes all day. David was a hangry mess from having directed the placement of the aforementioned furniture and boxes all day. Fortunately, both of these situations were easily predicted, and Patrick had ordered pizza for delivery, while David had arranged the Rose Apothecary’s finest, and a fluffy towel, in the master bathroom for Patrick’s eventual use. _A finer team there never was_ , or so David proclaimed once his belly was full, and a pink and shower-warm Patrick was curled on his chest. It was _so nice_ being in their own space, though really only the bed and linens had made their way out of boxes and been assembled. And though the day had rendered them both a little weary, there was no way the first official night in their own bed, in their own house, with a pair of matching golden rings on their left hands, was going to pass without a little time spent celebrating each other. 

Patrick took his time getting David ready. He loved to sit back and watch his husband’s face oscillate between lust and impatience as he fucked him with his fingers. He delighted in the way David’s eyes widened, and the little gasp that escaped his lips, when he brushed against his prostate, and how without fail, this reaction replicated itself no matter how many times Patrick teased against that tender spot. The arch in David’s back, and the flex of his abdominal muscles, drew Patrick’s attention every time, and he couldn’t resist charting the lines with his fingertips. But nothing compared to when he finally gave in to David’s pleas for more, when he lined himself up, slick with lube, and slowly pressed forward. David’s lower lip caught between his teeth, one last deep inhale held for several seconds while he adjusted to the fullness of Patrick’s cock inside him. And at last, the flash of a brilliant smile, and dancing eyes, urging Patrick to move. 

Sometimes, it was a game. David liked to try and time his own orgasm with Patrick’s, one hand on his own cock, the other wrapped around the back of Patrick’s neck, as they came together, lips chasing lips, as they gulped air as though they were drowning. And tonight David was feeling playful. And competitive. _In it to win it_ , or whatever that saying was that Patrick sometimes used to describe the baseball. 

David Rose didn’t really understand sports, but he knew enough to cobble together one coherent thought as Patrick withdrew slowly. _Home, fucking, run._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to a special someone. You know who you are.


	3. Master Bathroom, sort of

The first morning in his first house with his first ( _and only, thank you very much_ ) husband, David Rose was awakened by a groan that meant either he had traveled back in time to when Walter Matthau crashed Johnny Rose’s Christmas Party and woke up the whole house with his hungover lamentations, or his husband was suffering from a day spent lifting, carrying, and arranging boxes. Opening one-eye, and confirming his whereabouts, his brain caught up to the present, and he rolled over to see his freshly minted husband hunched over digging through a box. 

“ _Honey?_ ” he called out, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

Patrick pushed himself back to standing with his hands on his thighs, a packet of Robaxacet in his hand. Coming to vertical, he groaned again. “Feel like I’ve been hit by a Greyhound bus. I’m gonna see if a hot shower loosens things up.” Patrick braced himself on the bed, tipping forward just enough to press a kiss to David’s forehead. “I’ll make you coffee when I’m done, ok?”

David couldn’t help but bury his face back in the blankets to hide the grin spreading across his face. His sweet husband, even when suffering from the slings and arrows of moving residences, was so damn thoughtful. David’s cheeks felt flush, and he couldn’t help but shimmy a little under the covers, to try and wrangle the joy that bubbled up inside him. Unable to fall back asleep, he picked his phone up off the floor where it had been charging, letting out a little giggle when he saw the checklist, and mechanical pencil, lying beside the bed. He scrolled through Instagram, half-listening to Patrick sing snippets of some favourite songs, half-thinking about Patrick’s muscular body under the spray of hot water. When he heard the water turn off, David sprung out of bed, and headed for the bathroom.

He knocked lightly on the door before entering. Patrick was at the sink, one towel wrapped around his waist, another being used to dry his hair. Those delicious curls that he had let grow out since the wedding, or rather since Marcy had shown David pictures of what his husband looked like when his hair wasn’t kept quite so short. He couldn’t resist reaching out a hand, and gently tangling his fingers in the damp hairs at the back of Patrick’s head. “Do you feel better?”

Patrick nodded. “A bit. I’m sure once the muscle relaxant kicks in, and I’m up and moving more, it’ll be ok.”

“Mmmmk. Maybe I can help?” David drew his bottom lip between his teeth, and raised an inquiring brow. Patrick’s response was to undo the towel, fold it neatly, and place it at his feet.

Pleased, David sank to his knees, running his palms down Patrick’s thighs as he arranged himself comfortably on the towel. He nipped at the inside of Patrick’s thigh, leaving a small red mark behind that he soothed with his tongue. His tongue trailed up to Patrick’s left thigh crease, and back down to his balls, which he took in his mouth one at a time, suckling gently, before moving back up to the right side, and back down again, settling in to lick long stripes up Patrick’s perineum, over his balls, and part way up his erection, stopping just shy of the most sensitive tissue. Patrick perched a hand on the counter for balance, as blood raced towards his groin, causing him to sway a little. “David, _oh my god. Please._ ”

David took Patrick’s cock fully into his mouth, and looked up at Patrick with his stretched lips in a wide-smile. One hand moved from Patrick’s thigh to wrap around the base of his cock, establishing a steady rhythm of strokes, as David’s tongue pressed flat against the underside, sparking every nerve ending and causing Patrick’s hips to cant forward. David played Patrick like a... _what was the saying? Played like a...harpsichord? No. Accordion? No. Whatever. Doesn’t matter._ David knew exactly where, and how hard, to lick, stroke, and nip at Patrick to bring him to the point of shouting David’s name in praise, and coming down David’s throat. 

He made sure Patrick was all cleaned up before he stood, and was promptly pulled into a tight hug, and a languid kiss of thanks. 

“So, I guess you can check off the Master Bathroom, now?” David teased. 

“What? No. You didn’t come, David. The rules are that both of us have to come. This gets a half-check only, for now.”

“Y _ou can’t just change the rules to suit yourself!_ ”

“David, are you _really_ arguing about the promise of _more orgasms_ in the Master Bathroom?”

David was rendered speechless. He held his index finger up as though he was going to make a point and then changed his mind. “Fine. But we’re stopping at the cafe for pancakes.”


	4. Guest Bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With sincere apologies to Céline Dion.  
> But it was either you or Shania Twain, and the only good Shania lube I could think of was **Lube Gets Me Everytime**.

At David’s insistence, a brand new memory foam, pillow top, California king size bed was delivered about a week after they took possession of the new house. An upgraded bed obviously meant upgraded linens, and a lofty new down duvet. The old bed and its IKEA linens would furnish the guest bedroom, for the rare occasion when David could tolerate visitors overnight, or for when Patrick’s parents came to visit, because let’s face it, Marcy (and her cooking) were welcome anytime. 

In the guest bedroom, David sat down on the bare mattress. “Don’t you think, we should, _you know_...thank it for its service?” he asked with a sly grin, bouncing up and down a couple times for effect. 

Patrick stepped forward, until he was close enough to push David to lie down on the bed. David shimmied back, as Patrick crawled up his body, coming to rest straddling David’s hips. He dropped his hips, coming flush with David’s, grinding them together as he slanted forward for a kiss. “What do you want, David?” he murmured into David’s neck, sucking a light bruise just under his collar. David’s strong hands grabbed Patrick’s hips, holding him firmly in place as he thrust upwards. “ _Mmm. This. But less pants_.” David eyed the mattress. “And maybe a towel.”

He let go of Patrick, allowing him to dismount, and leave the bedroom in search of supplies. David stripped down to his boxer briefs, and tried to find a sexy, impatient-but-not-awkward looking pose to hold while he awaited his husband’s return. 

It took a little longer than David would have thought, or preferred. By the time Patrick came back, David had given up on any alluring posture, and was lying on his stomach scrolling on his phone. He set his phone carefully on the floor and rolled over, ready to welcome his husband back to his previous perch. Instead, Patrick was standing beside the bed, with the requisite towel, lubricant, and wearing significantly fewer clothes, but also with a one-metre length of bungee cord in his hand.

David could imagine the commentators calling this particular play. _Surprise move from Team Brewer, Stan, let’s see what he does next._

“Hands on the bars, David.” 

Immediately, and with a grin threatening to overtake his entire face, David reached above, gripping the familiar narrow bars. Patrick wove the bungee cord through the bars, and lightly around David’s wrists. He pressed a kiss on David’s pulse point. “Is this ok?” David nodded, his heart rate climbing rapidly in anticipation. He lifted his hips so Patrick could slide the soft towel underneath. 

Patrick swung a leg over, coming back to straddle David’s upper thighs, pinning him in place. Cracking open the bottle of lube, he leaned forward just enough to be able to reach around, and rub two lubed fingers on his own rim before slowly pushing inside. He worked himself open at a leisurely pace, delighting in the moans of appreciation that David couldn’t hold back. He tried bucking up, in search of friction, or any attention for his throbbing erection, but Patrick held him down with those thick thighs, resisting. This only made David more hungry for his husband, and he growled with frustration, at Patrick’s apparent immunity to the urgency of the situation unfolding literally in front of him. 

Eventually, Patrick couldn’t wait any longer, and he coated David’s cock before scooting forward and slowly, agonizingly slowly, sinking down until he had fully bottomed out. _Fucking finally._

And then, he was suddenly pulling back. 

“ _What the fuck, Patrick?_ ” David cried, arching his back, bending his knees, doing everything he could to bring Patrick back down on his cock. 

“I think you need to learn some patience, David,” he said in the same voice he used when he told David things like " _we need more mechanical pencils, David_ " or " _pass the cholula sauce, please David_." And _oh shit,_ David had probably not just thought that _fucking finally_.

Patrick went back to pinning David down by his thighs, and slowly took his own cock in hand. Without breaking eye contact, he stroked himself, just the way he knew David would, if only he wasn’t tied to the headboard. David felt like he was going to combust, and _oh god_ , the noises Patrick was making as he ran his slick hand over his thick and veiny cock were so amazing he wished he could record them, play them on shuffle with all the other incredible sounds his husband made when he was overcome with pleasure. He couldn’t handle this anymore. “ _Patrick, please. **Please.**_ ” He wiggle his hips as much as he could beneath Patrick. “ _Oh my god. Please just fuck me_.”

Patrick’s hand stilled on his cock. He carefully leaned in, drawing David’s lips in for a kiss, his tongue teasing for entry. Wordlessly, he transferred his weight and shifted forward until once again he was lined up with David, and again, he lowered himself _so, so, slowly_. Patrick braced his hands on David’s chest, and David was certain the heat emanating off them would brand his skin. He used his purchase on David’s body to give him what he needed, and it didn’t long before David was crying out, the muscles in his arms straining against the restraints. Patrick ground his hips down harder, in search of the most sensitive spots inside, as he once again took his own cock in hand, bring himself to orgasm with just a couple efficient pulls. He slowly dismounted one final time, stepping off the bed to remove the bungee cord from the headboard, gently lowering David’s arms for him. 

“Where did these come from?” David asked, voice sleepy, twisting his fingers around the bungee cord. 

“Oh, I borrowed them from Bob for the move. ” 

“And why did you open up the new bottle of **To Lube You More**? I thought we had an open bottle of **The Power of Lube**?” David was, of course, referring to the artisanal line of lubricants celebrating Céline Dion, and other Canadian legends, that they had recently started carrying at the store .

“Oh, I just it would be nice to use something new,” Patrick answered, blushing and unable to look David in the eye. David looked down at the towel underneath him. Uh _huh_. _The jig was up_.

“ _Oh. My. God._ Patrick Brewer, did you just _something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue_ me?” 


	5. Guest Bathroom

Patrick Brewer is a fierce negotiator. 

David Rose is stubborn as fuck. 

Yet somehow, they managed to negotiate the terms and conditions of a housewarming party. 

Matching outfits? _No_.

Snacks? _Yes, and **many**. _

Jello shooters? _Enthusiastic yes._

Spin the bottle? **No fucking way.**

Better communication before anything unnecessarily spirals out of control again? _Pretty sure that was in the vows, and **if it wasn’t, it should have been**_. 

***

The party was underway, and so far a smashing success. Drinks were flowing, the divas were playing, and people seemed content to find a comfortable corner for conversation. David was buzzing around like a good host, refilling drinks, making sure everyone was having a good time. 

On a pass to the kitchen for more shooters, Patrick grabbed him by the arm. “Um, David, I think the guest bathroom needs more toilet paper.” 

“Um, _no_ , Patrick I was just in there, it’s fine.”

“ _David. Trust me._ ” Patrick had that tone of voice. The one laced with something sneaky. David couldn’t help but nod, pivot on his heel, and head towards the guest bathroom, not looking behind him, but knowing Patrick was only a few steps back.

Predictably, there was plenty of toilet paper in the guest bathroom. But also predictably, Patrick was hot on David’s heels, closing the door swiftly behind them. He crowded David up against the wall. “We only have a few minutes before people get suspicious David, but I thought…”

“You thought your little game would be more fun if there was a chance we could be caught?” David finished Patrick’s sentence with a grin. 

He never really did get a confirmed answer because Patrick was too busy pulling down his pants, and fumbling with the tie on David’s, lowering them just enough to allow Patrick to grip both of their growing erections in his hand. A bottle of lube stealthily stowed under the sink led David to believe Patrick had  _ planned _ this, and that both thrilled and infuriated him. Mostly thrilled, when Patrick used a few drops to lubricate the slide of his hand across both of their cocks at once. David braced himself against Patrick’s shoulder, transfixed by Patrick’s ability to work the two of them at once, with one hand, _in….such….an…..ef...f…..f….icient mann...errrr_. A thought that he barely had time to complete before he was coming over Patrick’s fist, with Patrick right behind him. 

Patrick gave David a perfunctory kiss, performed an equally perfunctory clean-up, and ushered David out the door, as though nothing had happened. 

Later that night however, they made sure to check off “Guest Bathroom” on the list.


	6. Not the living room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad, and I'm stressed, and it's not even my country that is burning.  
> I can't bring myself to write smut right now. Here's hoping some sunshine and some deliberate social media avoidance gets me to a place where I can bring you some distraction later on today. 
> 
> Stay safe, friends. 
> 
> _"If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor." (Desmond Tutu) ___

“David!” 

_ “David!” _

“DAVID!” 

David flinched and shut off the vacuum. “Sorry, honey.”

Patrick’s stern look softened when he saw the sadness in his husband’s eyes. He set the laptop down on the coffee table and patted the sofa next to him.

“David, what’s wrong?” 

David didn’t sit, opting to pace round the living room and makeshift office instead. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

_“David.”_ There was  _ that tone _ again. Reserved for moments when Patrick needed to convey  _ I know something’s wrong and I know you’re not telling me but you’re gonna tell me so just spit it out  _ without actually using those words. “You’ve been vacuuming for 45 minutes and you’ve dusted every conceivable surface thrice.”

Patrick watched as David finally stopped pacing, his left hand worrying the gold engagement bands on his right. He moved towards Patrick and rather than sitting down next to his husband, plunked himself right on Patrick’s lap. He nuzzled his head into the crook of Patrick’s neck and spoke softly. “There’s just so much bad stuff going on, Patrick.”

Patrick’s arms wrapped around his husband’s torso, holding him close. “I know, baby.”

He squeezed tighter when he felt David’s breath catch, the first tears falling down his cheeks. 

David’s voice was a choked whisper. “I had  _ plans _ . You’re sitting there all cute and smart, with your furrowed brow and your calculator, and I thought we’d check off the livingroom today.”

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh a little at his endearingly sweet and sensitive husband - a sharp contrast to the David most people saw, one that only came out when David felt safe and loved. He pressed a kiss to David’s temple, murmuring softly. “It’s ok, baby. We’ll check it off another day.”


	7. Living room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind comments today.
> 
> I wrote this one in my head as I drove back from spending some much-needed time in the nature.   
> May it provide you with a moment of tender distraction.

The still-warm tea on the side table tells Patrick that David had tried valiantly to wait up for him. But the conference had run long, traffic had been slowed by the seasonal migration of farm implements, and Patrick hadn’t made it back to Schitt’s Creek until nearly midnight. 

The jangle of the keys in the door didn’t wake David. Nor did Patrick’s steps through the house, until he came up on his sleeping husband, bundled up on the couch - at which point his steps became more gentle and deliberate. 

Patrick took his satchel downstairs, depositing in his office, before quietly heading up to the master bathroom to shower and get ready for bed. Best to let David sleep until Patrick was ready for bed, too.

***

All evidence of small talk, schmoozing and a faulty air conditioning unit in the Elmdale Conference Centre scrubbed from his body and mind, Patrick descended the stairs to wake David. He knelt near David’s head and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. 

“ _Baby, I’m home._ ”

David stirred, taking a moment to open his eyes, and blinking blearily at Patrick. 

“Sorry, I’m late. Let’s go to bed.” 

David shook his head, adorably burrowing deeper into the fluffy blanket. 

Patrick chuckled. Obstinate and sleepy David was always a contender for his favourite version of his husband.

David lifted one side of the blanket and let out a petulant whine, inviting Patrick to join him on the couch, and well, who could resist? He laid nearly on top of David, who immediately buried his face in Patrick’s hair and inhaled deeply, finishing with a happy sigh. David murmured sleepy and happy sounds as his hands lazily rubbed up and down Patrick’s sides and back.

Patrick responded with a happy sigh of this own, and a kiss to David’s neck. 

Patrick felt David shift beneath him, his legs opening slightly, allowing Patrick to fall between them. David grunted at the sudden pressure, before deliberately pressing his hips upwards against Patrick. His sleepy and happy sounds became more sleepy, yet _interested_.

Experimentally, Patrick ground his hips against David. A low growl, the loudest sound David had made since Patrick woke him up, escaped his lips. The hands that had been roaming Patrick’s back slipped under the waistband of his boxer-briefs, gripping his ass. Patrick felt David begin a slow roll of his pelvis, pulling Patrick against him in alternation with his own thrusts. Patrick gasped at the sensation. “Do you want to take this upstairs?” he whispered against David’s lips.

“ _Nuh uh._ Too tired.”

Patrick considered insisting on a change of locale, but lying here with his sleep-rumpled, soft, warm and adorable husband rutting against him was so good he didn’t want to move. If there was the added bonus of checking off the living room on their list, well, then that was nice, too.

So what if he was going to have a quick shower again to clean up?

This was a practiced routine. One of the many ways the two of them could experience pleasure together, and despite some misgivings in the early days of their relationship about this feeling adolescent and immature, some of their most intimate moments had happened while they slowly rocked each other to orgasm. It didn’t take long - Patrick had been keyed up with nervous energy from his conference presentation, and David had been irritable and annoyed at being along at the store all day, and both men cried out in relief when they came. 

Lying on David’s chest, hearing his steady heartbeat get itself under control again, Patrick felt his balance return. He laid there for a few moments, before pushing himself up, and offering a hand to pull David to standing. Fingers interlaced, they headed up stairs to clean up and crawl beneath the sheets, but not before finding their checklist and marking the occasion.


	8. Breakfast Nook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not make a nookie in the breakfast nook joke.  
> I will not make a nookie in the breakfast nook joke.  
> I will not make a nookie in the breakfast nook joke.  
> I will not make a nookie in the breakfast nook joke.  
> I will not make a nookie in the breakfast nook joke.  
> I will not make a nookie in the breakfast nook joke.  
> I will not make a nookie in the breakfast nook joke.  
> I will not make a nookie in the breakfast nook joke.

Lazy Sundays became a favourite in the Brewer-Rose household. Following some cozy snuggles and good morning kisses, Patrick would usually get up to make breakfast and coffee, while David remained in bed scrolling on social media, acquainting himself with consciousness a little slower. Often, the smell of coffee would cause David to wrap himself in a blanket and drag himself to sit in the breakfast nook, which is where he found himself on a sunny Sunday, a few months into occupancy of their new home.

Patrick was busy at the stove, ensuring the bacon is crispy, and making dollar pancakes the way David likes, as David thumbed through his phone, laughing hysterically.

“David, what’s so funny?”

David passed his phone to Patrick, open to a [video of a child’s patience being tested with candy](https://www.tiktok.com/@curtisplunkett/video/6829805148877982981). 

Funny, but well, not _that_ funny. David tried again, this time with a [video of a dog’s patience being tested](https://vm.tiktok.com/Ed7nr7/). Patrick laughed, but really, mostly because an idea was forming in his head.

A few moments later, a small stack of steaming loonie-size pancakes, and a fresh bottle of maple syrup are placed in front of David. He reached for one, but Patrick snatched it from his hand before it reaches his mouth. “ _Nope, nuh uh_ , David! We’re gonna play a little game!”

The look on David’s face says it all. He knows what’s up. “Ok, Patrick...what are your terms?”

“I’m going to sit here, in the breakfast nook next to you, and get myself off, niiiice and slow. If you can hold off and not touch the pancakes until I come, I’ll give you a spectacular maple-flavoured blowjob.”

Patrick can see that David can’t resist. Yes, there are pancakes right in front of him, but there’s also the prospect of watching his domestic and sexy as fuck husband get both himself and David off, and surely, that has to override fluffy carbs? “ _Deal_ ,” David said, staring Patrick straight in the eyes.

***

Nine minutes and seventeen seconds later, David was salivating. He couldn’t quite discern whether it’s from the salacious way in which Patrick was touching himself, or the tease of the scent of pancakes, but it was really starting to get the best of him. He clenched his hands, digging his nails into his palms, keeping the prospect of Patrick kneeling in front of him and licking maple syrup off his dick at the forefront of his mind. 

***

Fourteen minutes and fifty-three seconds after the challenge began, Patrick was pulling David’s pants back up, tucking his softening cock back into his boxer briefs, and passing him a fork.


	9. Formal Dining Area

“ _Fuck!_ **I hate this!** ” David’s fork clattered against his plate. 

Three years of periodic overreaction on the part of his husband has trained Patrick to keep his face neutral, but he still can’t resist teasing. “Well, David, you could have just told me you didn’t like spaghetti squash.”

David’s glare softened. “ _I meant the colour_. It needs to go.”

***

The formal dining room was more or less painted. The trim along the baseboards still needed to be done, but Patrick could take care of that in the morning before David got up. 

Patrick scraped the excess paint off his brush, and capped the paint can. He wiped his hands on his jeans and stood up, pulling off his paint-splattered t-shirt and using the clean sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Well, David, what do you think?” he asked, turning to face his husband.

David’s eyes were fixed on the slight sheen of perspiration across Patrick’s chest. He didn’t even look up as he responded. “Much better.”

Patrick chuckled. “I’m talking about the paint, David.”

“Mmmm. That too.”

“Ok, well, I’m going to hop in the shower. Do you want to order pizza?”

David’s gaze hadn’t moved. His feet, however, closed the distance between him and Patrick. 

“Mmmhmm. I... _just...want t_ o…” Patrick inhaled sharply as David licked a stripe up his neck, and took his earlobe into his mouth. Patrick felt David fumble his hands around his waist, tugging on the drawstring of his cotton shorts, dropping them around Patrick’s ankles. Patrick kicked them off, as David stripped out of his own painting clothes, tossing them in a pile. 

They crashed their bodies together once again, hands roaming, and lips pressed together in a bruising kiss. Patrick pulled back to survey their surroundings. There was no way David was going to lie down on the dropcloth, and the dining room table and chairs were also covered. Their height difference and lack of a wall for purchase made standing impossible... _unless_ …

Patrick dragged David over to the table. He turned away from David and braced his hands on the table, wiggling his ass suggestively. David growled hungrily, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waist from behind, stroking his cock, and planting kisses along the back of his neck. Patrick reached back behind, awkwardly but successfully getting a light grip on David's cock. 

“ _Nnngh, Patrick! Hold on._ _Hold on._ ” Patrick felt the chill in the room as David let him go and stepped out of the room. 

Patrick scanned the room, making sure the blinds were drawn, and that no cans of paint or other supplies were in danger of being knocked over or stepped on. A sliver of sun peeking through the kitchen curtains caught on the accent mirror that until the day before had hung in the formal dining room, but was temporarily leaning up against the sofa. _It makes the room look bigger, Patrick_ David had told him when they picked it out at Urban Barn. Hearing David still upstairs, Patrick arranged the mirror against one of the covered chairs, checking the angles and deeming it just right as David bounded back down the stairs, lube in hand. Patrick replaced his hands on the table, and David snaked up behind him. “Mmmmm, where were we?” he purred in Patrick’s ear. 

Patrick pressed back against him, feeling David’s hard cock against his ass. “ _Right,_ ” David murmured, clicking the cap with one hand, and caressing Patrick’s muscular back with the other. 

“ _Bend over_ , honey.”

Patrick maneuvered himself so he was perched on his forearms as David quickly worked him open with one hand, his moans becoming increasingly more desperate, as David palmed over his body with the other. He wasn’t above begging. “ _David, please. Please, baby._ ” His voice cracked on the last syllable, a little hoarse already. 

With one last kiss pressed to Patrick’s lower back, David took himself in hand, and coated his cock with lube, before pressing forward into Patrick. Once David was fully seated, Patrick turned his head towards the mirror. “ _Baby, look.”_

Patrick watched as David took in the sight in the mirror. Their bodies joined at the hip. He made eye contact with David in the mirror as David slowly pulled out and pushed back in a few times, watching the drag of his cock in and out of his gorgeous husband. “ _Holy fuck that’s so hot, Patrick_. Why haven’t we done this before?” 

Patrick was mesmerized at David’s focus on the reflection in the mirror. He watched David’s hands on his hips, as his fingers dug in, flexing against the tissue. He could see the pink imprints left behind that faded nearly immediately when David moved his hands. Patrick could see David’s chest heaving as his orgasm drew closer and closer, and he watched as David’s face contorted in ecstasy as he came, emptying himself in Patrick. 

He saw the journey of David’s face as he decided what to do next. He slid carefully out of Patrick, and then knelt next to him. Patrick watched in the mirror as David tapped on his hip, encouraging him to turn slightly. He saw David’s tongue before he felt it, and Patrick’s head dropped to the table, as every nerve ending lit up under David’s ministrations. David shook his head, mouth full of cock. He pulled back a little. “ _Nuh uh_. **Watch, honey**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's paint.  
> You know it's paint.


	10. Master Bathroom, part deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may recall, the [master bathroom ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365041/chapters/58858603) had only previously been half-checked. Paint has now covered the evidence, but David remembers.

David and Patrick’s morning routines almost never overlap, with Patrick being an early riser who likes to exercise first thing, shower immediately after, and enjoy a hot cup of tea before work, and David being one to have a precise and calculated morning regime that allows him to sleep in as long as possible. However, every now and again, the stars align such that Patrick can sleep in a little later, or he forgoes his morning workout in favour of a little extra cuddle time, or if the stars are feeling a little cruel, David has to get up early in order to open the store on days when Patrick has to visit a vendor early in the morning. 

Such is the case, on a brisk Thursday morning in late April. 

Patrick had showered and moisturized the bare minimum that David would permit.

David had just gotten in the shower, and was working his shower pouf into a lather, scrubbing it across his chest, when Patrick came back into the washroom, fully dressed, and just needing to brush his teeth. David watched as his husband placed the requisite amount of toothpaste on his brush, and began brushing. He watched until Patrick finally sensed surveillance and turned around.

David slowly slid the pouf down his abdomen, eyes locked with Patrick, shameless in his intent. 

He bit his lip, as he dipped the pouf under his balls, before letting it drop to the shower floor. His hand, now free, gripped his cock that had swollen slowly whilst Patrick’s ass was in his line of sight. David stroked himself lazily, looking up at Patrick through his lashes, his dark hair soaking wet, and flat against his head, rivulets of water pouring over him. 

Patrick watched him. His gaze like an inferno. Reminiscent of a burning mobile home they had seen on a road trip fairly recently and well, that was a weird thing to pop in David’s head but whatever. 

And so, David performed. It had been a long time since he had done this, likely because Patrick’s ability to watch David without getting directly and immediately involved was quite limited, and _oh -_

Patrick lunged towards the glass shower door, attempting to push it open, the look on his face broadcasting _clothes be damned_ and _let me the fuck in there_ but David beat him to it, wedging his foot up against the door, prohibiting entry.

David grinned and just continued to stroke himself. Up and around the head, moaning a little loud for effect, until he finally came over his fist, his release washed away by the shower. 

“ _Unbelievable_ ,” Patrick muttered. He looked at his watch. He needed to leave. 

David watched with an amused expression on his face while Patrick adjusted himself in his tight jeans. 

“Bye, honey!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points for you if you get the Noah Reid lyric reference. My focus group didn't, but they blamed me, so, you know.


	11. Patrick's Office

David leaned one hip against the door frame, trying his best to look effortlessly alluring. 

“ _Hi_ ,” he breathed on an exhale.

The furrow in Patrick’s brow eased as he looked up at David. A bright smile spread across his face, and he tucked the mechanical pencil behind his ear. “Hi,” he replied softly.

David closed the distance between then. “Whatcha workin’ on?”

Patrick gestured to the computer, the furrow making an effort to return. “Quarterly reports.”

David came to stand behind Patrick, his fingers dancing lightly across Patrick’s shoulders. 

“Mmmm! Well. _Make sure you…_ ”

David leaned over, far enough that he could walk his finger’s down Patrick’s chest. 

“ _account for…_ ”

His voice grew deeper, and he leaned closer to pull Patrick’s earlobe between his lips.

“ _...inflation_.”

Fully bent over, David traced a singular digit across Patrick’s zipper. 

Patrick’s head fell back against his office chair, and he let out a low moan.

David straightened himself up, placed his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, and swivelled the chair towards him. He braced his hands on Patrick’s knees, tipping forward slightly to nip his way up Patrick’s neck. 

“ _Perhaps, I can take a look at your spread_ \- “

David pulled Patrick’s knees apart.

“ _sheets_?”

He felt Patrick's eyes watching his every move. David lowered himself slowly, coming to kneel between Patrick’s open legs. He reached up, removing the pencil from behind Patrick’s ear, and dragged it down Patrick’s sternum. 

“ _Seems like you’ve got lots of…_ ”

And down his abdomen, and across his crotch.

“ _lead._ ”

Patrick’s breath hitched. David could see the swell straining against his jeans, and felt his own erection throbbing in his joggers. 

“ _David_ ,” he gasped. “ _Please._ ”

David grinned. He slowly unzipped Patrick’s jeans, and tapped on his leg, encouraging Patrick to lift up so he could slide his jeans and underwear down his legs. He left them pooled around Patrick’s ankles, rather than pulling them all the way off. 

Wasting no time, he enveloped Patrick’s cock with his mouth, taking him as deep as he could. One hand wrapped around the base, taking up a steady rhythm of strokes. The other hand, David reached into his own joggers, tugging on his own erection. He moaned around Patrick’s cock, the vibrations pushing Patrick higher and higher, which only served to drive David wild with desire. 

It didn’t take long. It never did when David was so focused on Patrick, and Patrick’s pleasure was so inextricably linked to his own that David came moments after Patrick began shuddering through his orgasm, shouting David’s name. David suckled him gently though the aftershocks, caressing Patrick’s thighs, and whispering his adoration against Patrick’s skin. 

With a groan and a smirk, David stood up, and grabbed some kleenex off the desk to wipe the come off his hand. 

“Well, honey, I don’t think this is what’s meant by sticky notes, so I’ll leave you to it.”


	12. David's Studio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains elements that were at the request of a very special reader. 
> 
> Happy birthday to you  
> Happy birthday to you  
> You like Take Charge Patrick  
> So I wrote this for you

Hot coffee?  _ Check _ .

Oversized sweater, soft pants, slightly incorrect yet cozy fuzzy slippers?  _ Check _ .

Blinds open?  _ Check. _

Mariah’s angelic voice filtering through the Sonos?  _ Check. _

David curled up on the divan, his legs tucked to the side, hand wrapped around his mug. He closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in the warm sun coming in the east windows. 

This room hadn’t looked like much when they moved in - its oblong shape running the width of the house from east to west meant both brilliant morning and burning afternoon sun in equal measure. But the right coat of paint and a carefully constructed moodboard brought David’s studio to life, giving him a space all his own - something he hadn’t had since before his family had lost everything - but was only now truly able to appreciate in the life he had built with Patrick. 

Though he’d be loathe to admit it, it was also the first time he was able to appreciate early mornings. On days Patrick got up early to go for a run, he’d loll in bed until his husband left, and then slowly work his way down to the kitchen for coffee, and back up to his studio to brainstorm ideas for the store, or draw, or just think.

Today, David had plans to sketch out Pride month in the Apothecary. Rainbows would be minimal, save for their flag out front, but featuring the stories and wares of their LGBTQ+ vendors was of paramount importance. He cracked open his journal, and a loose page tumbled out. 

It wasn’t unusual for Patrick to leave David little notes, ranging from sweet  _ I love you _ s to polite request  _ please put my laundry in the dryer when you get up _ to sappy sentiments  _ I don’t know what I did to deserve you. _

But _this_. 

_This_ was new.

David felt a shiver run up his spine. 

He looked at the time. Roughly half an hour remaining. Time to get a move on.

***

With mere moments to spare, David laid on the divan. And, at 10:15 am, on cue, Patrick entered David’s studio, looking flush from his run. Curls askew, sweaty brow, but eyes dark. So dark. He nodded approvingly at David, and David felt a flush of his own spread down his body. 

He watched as Patrick crossed the room, leaning towards David to press a brief, salty kiss. David let out a whine as Patrick pulled back. David felt Patrick’s eyes rake across his body appreciatively. 

“I’m going to shower,” he said lowly. “You’re going to wait for me. No touching yourself.”

David let out a groan. Patrick’s gaze snapped up to meet David’s eyes. “Is there a problem, David?”

David reigned it in. “No, nope, no!” he promised, deeply turned on by this side of his husband he so rarely got to see.

David watched as Patrick’s eyes drank in the sight before him one more time before nodded curtly and turned on his heels towards the bathroom.

David let out a mute groan as his head dropped against the back of the divan. His throbbing erection begged for attention, but somehow the minuscule possibility that Patrick could reappear and catch him disobeying orders was enough to convince him to keep his hands to himself. Instead, David focused on taking some deep breaths, thinking calm and boring thoughts about candles and body milk and soap and _oh god, Patrick’s soapy body and hands rubbing body milk all along his porcelain skin_...ok, ok, baseball stats, pitching, _oh god pitching and catching and Patrick taking David so, so deep_ , ok, no, Roland. Roland. Roland was the fail safe. David listened for the water to shut off, for Patrick’s shower-karaoke to finish, as patiently as he could. 

Breathe in, breathe out, _Roland’s fungal feet_. In, out, _Roland’s psoriatic hands_. In, out, _Roland’s obvious gingival infections_.

Finally,  _ fucking finally, _ Patrick  _ casually fucking swaggered  _ back into David’s studio, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His skin was still slightly damp, and the pink tinge from the hot water hadn’t yet faded. 

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” he asked, as he moved towards the divan.

David shook his head.

“Oh, so you were good for me?”

David nodded.

David watched as Patrick let the towel fall to his feet, now close enough that Patrick’s straining erection was within licking distance. 

“Do it,” he commanded. David looked up at him.  _ Is he a fucking mindreader? _

He felt Patrick’s hand wind around the back of his head, his fingers tangling lightly in David’s hair. David let out a small gasp as Patrick directed him towards his cock. David hummed happily as he opened his mouth and flattened his tongue against the bottom of Patrick’s cock, just where he knew his husband liked it. Patrick’s grip tightened, holding David in place, and out of reflex David reached down to wrap a hand around his own erection. 

With Patrick deep in his mouth, his nose pressed against Patrick’s public bone, he felt the growl more than he heard it, but the grunt of “ **no, mine** ” and the swat of David’s hand away was clear. 

David moved his hand back to rest on his own thigh, his nails digging in slightly, resisting the urge to relieve himself of the building pressure. 

After what seemed like hours, Patrick pulled back from David’s mouth. David looked up at him with his swollen lips, and lust filled eyes, blinking his long lashes as if he didn’t know exactly what this was doing to his husband.  _ Oh, he knew.  _ Patrick stepped back.

David watched as Patrick bent down and pulled a small Rubbermaid container out from underneath the divan. Inside, a towel, and a bottle of lube. 

David lifted his hips as Patrick slid the towel underneath him, patting it flat, and pressing an affectionate kiss to the inside of David’s left knee, before tucking his hands under David’s thighs and tugging him handily to the edge of the divan. David couldn’t see, but he heard, the  _ snick! _ of the lube cap opening, and seconds later a cool, slick finger traced down his balls and slid tenderly over his hole. His hips bucked involuntarily, eliciting a corrective grunt and downward press of the palms of Patrick’s hands on either side of his pelvis. “David,” Patrick cautioned, as though his name alone was enough. 

David settled back into the cushions, back to concentrating on being still and submitting to his husband. 

Patrick pushed David’s legs up, folding them towards his chest. “Hold,” he commanded.

David grasped his thighs, spreading open for Patrick, whose finger found its way back to David’s entrance, circling slowly before pressing in. A second finger, a third, soon joined, as Patrick worked him open.  _ Fuck _ , his husband was a quick study. David had been concerned with Patrick’s enthusiasm for nothing but when Patrick had first started bottoming, but mercifully, in a relatively short period of time, they’d settled into a comfortable pattern of switching back and forth, and  _ good god,  _ David would miss this if it had turned out Patrick was a true bottom. 

David was brought out of his nostalgic trance by the rhythmic drive of Patrick’s fingers inside him, periodic presses against his prostate, and Patrick’s free hand lazily cupping David’s balls, stroking the inside of his thighs, and pressing along his perineum, creating pressure in David’s abdomen that was hinging on unbearable. His thighs started to quake, causing Patrick to still completely in response, and slowly withdraw his fingers from David. 

When Patrick didn’t move for several counts, David lifted his head, searching for his eyes. 

“David, _no_. No coming yet. Understand?” 

David tried to speak, but his voice came out hoarse and questioning. “Yes?”

Patrick tilted his head. “David?”

David nodded, cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes, yep, definitely, got it!”

  
David’s overly effusive response made Patrick chuckle, but his hands didn’t find their way back right away. Instead, Patrick hoisted David until he was at the edge of the divan, his ass just hanging ever so slightly over. He pushed David’s knees towards his chest, angling his hole upwards. David watched as his husband used those  _ tree trunk _ legs to squat down, and slowly, so slowly, sink lower and lower inside him. He fought the urge to close his eyes, the sight before him being such a vision. 

David still wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. As Patrick pumped in and out, he ran them up Patrick’s flank, down his biceps, but Patrick paid no mind. He decided to test the waters by drawing one hand slowly down his abdomen, lower, lower and…

“ _David!_ ” Patrick snapped.

David let out a plaintive whine. He’d been sooo good. And god, he  _ ached _ for relief. He just needed a little bit, just a little rub, just a little  _ hey, how’s your johnson  _ and  _ oh god,  _ he must have just babbled that out loud because now Patrick was outright belly laughing at him. 

Patrick kept his grip on one of David’s thighs, as the other wrapped around David’s cock. David was so wound up that it took less than a dozen firm strokes before he was arching his back, crying out, and spilling all over himself. As he came down from his orgasm, and the aftershocks continued, he egged Patrick on with a litany of filthy praise that he knew, just knew, was going to drive Patrick to the edge fast. Sure enough, Patrick’s hips stuttered and stilled as his face contorted in the most  _ exquisite _ expression of ecstasy, and the volume of his shouts broke all noise bylaws across all neighbouring municipalities. 

Slowly, David felt Patrick lower his legs, slip out from inside him, and press tender kisses to each knee cap. 

One last command. “Stay,” Patrick said softly, as he went to the bathroom to grab a washcloth to clean them up, and well, that was the easiest one for David to obey, because his legs were like jello and he was pretty sure he couldn’t feel his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so it's been a hot minute since I posted. Like almost a week, which is like 7 weeks in dog time, but like 84 years in Titanic/Poutini time. 
> 
> I'm not one who typically thrives on extrinsic sort of encouragement, but I admittedly got a little in my head about why I'm writing this, because I gotta be honest, when each chapter gets like 500 hits, but your kudos have stalled out, and it's the same crew of dedicated and amazing (and I appreciate you!) commenters, you sort of feel like you're either putting trash out there that people are reading because it's like a trainwreck you can't look away from, or you're shouting into the void, and it's a little too easy to feel like you shouldn't bother. So yeah. That's where I've been at. This chapter was a fucking grind. And not the good kind. Here's to hoping the next one comes a little easier. Like Patrick when David wears that leather jacket. Awwww yeah.


	13. BONUS:  The Back Deck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little treat, as requested by a few readers. 
> 
> ***
> 
> Thank you to everyone who made their presence known after my slightly disheartened note at the end of Chapter 12. It was really, really nice to her from you, and to know you're there. 
> 
> Two more to go, and then I have something super fun planned. Well, I hope you'll think it's super fun!

It doesn’t happen how you might have expected.

There’s no fairy lights. ( _ Light attracts bugs with milky exoskeletons, Patrick _ )

There isn’t even any moonlight. ( _ The new moon is the best time for stargazing, David. _ )

There is no thrill of the possibility of being caught. ( _ Thank god for no neighbours within shouting distance is the consensus. _ )

But on a Saturday night in July, when the air is still hot and humid long after the sun has disappeared below the horizon, there’s a soft blanket laid on the back deck, and a soft pillow under Patrick’s hips, bracing him, protecting him from the hardness of the cedar wood. There’s his husband, gazing lovingly at him from above, as he sinks lower and lower, joining the two of them together at the belt line. And there’s the soft moans that escape, the sound of skin against skin, and the gasps into each other’s mouths as they tip over the edge within moments of the other. 

There’s tender fingertips that trace down a sternum, whispers of adoration and appreciation, and innumerable kisses on temples, shoulders, collarbones, necks and lips. 

_But_ there’s also the rogue bug that finds its way to land on Patrick’s chest, and the inevitable “ _Ew, fuck_!” and scramble as the night comes to an abrupt end. 


	14. Kitchen

Patrick gathered the empty plates, pushed his chair back and stood up. He dropped a quick kiss to David’s temple, and a “thanks for dinner”. 

David waved off the thanks. “Oh, I _hardl_ y think unpacking take out from the Poutinerie counts for much.”

Patrick chuckled and shrugged. “Well, I _hardly_ think washing two plates, two forks and a couple of glasses counts as doing dishes.”

***

David crowded up behind Patrick and snaked his arms around Patrick’s waist. One hand teased its way under Patrick’s shirt, finding a nipple to pinch lightly, and his other hand grazed under the waistband of Patrick’s jeans. David felt Patrick’s abdomen clench. 

“ _Nnnnnnnngh_ David,” he moaned, tipping his head back against David’s chest. Patrick’s soapy hands, paralyzed from touching his husband.

“Do you want me to stop, honey?” David murmured lowly, mouthing behind Patrick’s ear. 

There was a pause, and a groan, and a slight shake of Patrick’s head, in response. David watched as Patrick tried to refocus on the task at hand. 

David gently rolled Patrick’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and allowed the pinky of his other finger to brush through Patrick’s pubic hair as he palmed under the waistband.

“Mmmk, but do you  _ need _ me to stop?” 

Never being one to back away from a challenge, Patrick shook his head. “Could you... _just_ …”

David nipped Patrick’s earlobe.

“... _slow down_ …”

David pulled Patrick’s earlobe between his teeth.

“... _a little_?”

David’s hands retracted, finding their way back to Patrick’s hips. But his chest remained tight against Patrick’s back, and his mouth close enough to Patrick’s neck that Patrick could feel the heat of his breath. 

“Okay, honey. Finish the dishes,” David purred, finding freckles at the nape of Patrick’s neck requiring urgent attention.

Patrick returned his attention to the kitchen sink. Or tried, anyway. 

David returned his attention to Patrick. With great success.

“ _So…_ ”

_ Hot lips pressed against the back of Patrick’s neck. _

“I noticed…”

_ A hand pulled Patrick’s collar away from his body, and lips found flushed skin. _

“We haven’t checked off…”

_ A dark red mark began to bloom under David’s lips. _

“The kitchen.”

Patrick made an unintelligible sound - somehow a hybrid moan of pleasure and appreciation for solid record-keeping. 

David kept going. His mouth found new places, alternated pressure, while his hands remained steady on Patrick’s hips. Patrick, who was valiantly trying to wash the few dishes they had dirtied at dinner. 

“So, when you’re done…”

_ *nibble* _

“...The dishes...”

_ *kiss* _

"I’m gonna bend you over the butcher block…”

_ *liiiiiiiiiiick* _

“And I’m gonna spread those luscious cheeks…”

_ *nibble nibble nibble* _

“...And I’m gonna get you slippery…”

_ *kiss kiss kiss* _

“...until you’re _desperate…”_

Abruptly, Patrick withdrew his hands from the soapy water, and reached for the dish towel.

David drew back equally as quickly, his voice a little sharper. “Um, **what** are you doing?”

Patrick turned, gripping David’s hips so tight. His hand, still a little damp, cupped the back of David’s neck, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. “ _ **Fuck** me_,” he said breathlessly.

David took hold of Patrick’s wrists, and gently lowered them. “You have a few dishes left, honey.” David cast a glance over Patrick’s shoulder at what remained in the sink.

Patrick groaned. He turned back to the sink.

David ramped up his efforts at tormenting his husband.

“I’m gonna sliiiiiide in. Easy. Honey, your ass was _mean_ t for me.” 

_ One dish, two forks, and a glass remained. _

“You’re gonna use those strong thighs to brace yourself while I drive into you.”

_ Two forks and a glass. _

“So slick, honey. Just like you like it.”

_ One fork and a glass. _

“And I’m gonna take you in my hand, and stroke you so, so, so slow.”

_ One glass. **Don’t break the glass.** _

“Come on, Patrick. Let’s get messy, honey.”

_ Glass safely in the drainer, taps off.  _

Assertively, Patrick turned around. He’d had enough, yet both of them knew, not quite enough. He was so hard it hurt. He wanted what David had described so badly, it hurt worse.

“David,” he growled, reaching down to undo his belt and jeans. _“Go get the fucking lube."_

__


	15. Powder Room

Life got busy. 

Product roll out in the Rosebudd Motel chain was a massive success, necessitating the hire of two employees to fulfill institutional and subsequent customer orders.

The Apothecary itself was bustling, and David and Patrick had started talking about a second location in Thornbridge.

There’s a weekend road trip to visit Marci and Clint, and a visit from Johnny.

And David directed Schitt’s Creek Community Theatre Group’s production of Finian’s Rainbow, with Patrick playing Og, the leprechaun.

And somehow, in all this busy-ness, the checklist slips into a pile of papers, and well, out of sight, out of mind. 

It occurred to David and Patrick, each in turn, to look for the checklist, but their focus inevitably got pulled away before they followed through.

Besides, with Patrick’s newfound penchant for that spreader bar, which is really only comfortable to use on their California king, and David’s obsession with blowing Patrick under the rainfall showerhead, they haven’t ventured outside of the master suite much lately.

It’s not until the one year anniversary of their move is looming on the horizon that Patrick not only remembers the list, but dedicates the time to finding it, coming up triumphant finally, a mere hour before they anticipate the first guests arriving for their house-iversary party.

With a furrowed brow, he considered the list. One room. The powder room.  _ Hmmm. _

There’s not much time, nor much space. But Patrick is driven to complete the list before the party begins.

Sitting on the closed lid of the toilet he sends David a text.

_ Baby, can you bring me some TP? I’m in the powder room. _

Three bubbles appear, disappear, and reappear.

_ Ew, Patrick!  _

_ This is marriage, David. _

Patrick heard steps approaching the powder room, and he stood, ready.

David pushed the door open just enough to pass through a roll of toilet paper. Rather than take the offering, Patrick grabbed David’s wrist and pulled him into the tiny half bathroom.

David squawked. “ _Wha? What were you doing in here? Did you wash your ha_ \- ?”

Patrick cut his husband off with a kiss. “ _Shhhh._ ”

He showed David the list. “I promised you, David. And we have one room left.”

Patrick tried to wink, but well, for all his athleticism, Patrick Brewer never really did master neither winking nor a proper eyebrow raise.

Didn’t matter. The glint in David’s eye told Patrick he understood. 

David tucked his fingers into Patrick’s waistband and pulled him forward, capturing his lips in a kiss. “Gotta make this quick,” he murmured, his lips still now ghosting against his husband’s neck.

Patrick nodded. “Mmhmmm. How quick do you think you can be?”

David nibbled on Patrick’s earlobe. “Quicker than you.”

Patrick felt his blood dance, as if Michael Flatley were in his veins. A _very, very competitive_ Michael Flatley. 

Patrick backed up as far as he could from David in the small room. Quickly, he undid his jeans, and pulled everything down to his knees. David kicked off his drop-crotch sweats. 

“Ready?”

David nodded. 

“Ok, David, on the count of three. One...tw - “

David was already stroking himself before Patrick finished counting two. A mischievous grin spread across his face. “You better catch up, honey!  Last one to come has to answer the door when Roland gets here!”

With the mention of Roland, Patrick’s rhythm faltered a little, but he regained his composure. 

With a confident expression that David knew well, Patrick looked him straight in the eye. “Oh, I’m _gonna_ catch up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it!
> 
> I hope you had at least a quarter the fun reading it, as I did writing it!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	16. Two years in, David and Patrick add on a four-season sunroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When your fic ends 357 words shy of 10,000 and when you reference a spreader-bar without giving either the reader or Patrick the satisfaction, you buck up and write 357 words of spreader-bar sex. 
> 
> Them's the rules. 
> 
> Also, if you haven't already done so, please visit my [ Choose Your Own Adventure style Coda Fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24970807). It was a _project_ and I'm proud of how it turned out, so I'm gonna shamelessly self-promote at every opportunity.

The furrow in David’s brow only deepened as the dark clouds approached from the west. Patrick watched as he rubbed his temples - the drop in barometric pressure causing David’s head to ache - and as he paced across the living room, anxiety rising. 

Patrick knew that not much could distract David during bad weather, but that didn’t stop him from trying each time. On this particular occasion, Patrick was prepared. 

He stepped in front of David, stopping him in his tracks. Harried and unfocused eyes met Patrick’s. “What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, flustered and annoyed. 

Patrick grabbed David’s hand and pulled him in the newly-finished four season sunroom. The lights were off, but the room was momentarily illuminated by a flash of lightning that caused David to jump. 

“What the hell, Patrick?” he exclaimed, trying to pivot. 

Patrick held tight. Thunder cracked, and another flash of lightning lit up the sky, the brilliance catching and reflecting off a metal object on the futon that David had insisted on buying for afternoon naps in the sun. The spreader bar. 

With his free hand, Patrick cupped David’s cheek, and pulled him down so he could nip at his earlobe and whisper “Exposure therapy, baby.”

Finally, Patrick let go of David, hoping he’d stay. Quickly, Patrick stripped down, and laid down on the futon, offering the spreader bar to David. 

Hesitantly, David took it, and with a practiced hand, wrapped the leather cuffs around Patrick’s ankles. The harried look gone and replaced by focus. He swiped the bottle of lube Patrick had left on the side table, coated his index finger, and without delay worked it inside Patrick, who was now writhing, restricted underneath him. One finger came two, then three, and then David was using the spreader bar to lift Patrick’s hips as he drove inside him. All the while, the lightning flashed and thunder roared. 

Patrick’s back arched as David began to stroke him in time with his thrusts. He wouldn’t last long. “Still worried about the storm, baby?” he asked, panting. 

David gasped as he came, hips stuttering against the back of Patrick’s thighs. “What storm?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The list had long since been responsibly recycled by Patrick and is therefore unavailable for updating.


End file.
